Tuesday, October 02, 2012

Stupid Prick.

I woke up one day with a fear. I was absolutely positive
that my cock’s gonna fall off. It wasn’t pain, it wasn’t itchy, just an
irrational fear that it’s just going to dry off, wither away and crumble, like
chips in your clenched fist. My cock is a late fall leaf that fell off some sad
old tree eons ago. I held my cock for three hours non-stop for the first time
without beating it. Just held it as if it were a newborn baby that’s bound to
die due to some unspecified disease. And unspecified indeed it was. I put on
the tightest underpants my drawer was harboring, slowly and carefully got
dressed and walked out into the world.

The world was terrible. A foul, filthy place filled with
terrible creatures, rushing through me as if I were transparent. Everyone is in
a hurry and I don’t let them even brush against my dick in the bus. I rush out
of it as soon as I reach my doctor’s office. My GP is a middle-aged fat woman
that I’ve never met before in my life. The queue is almost nonexistent, and yet
I am sweating like a wild boar in a forest fire. They call out my name and I am
in the office in a matter seconds. She looks at me and I presume my face is a
chill pepper. You can almost cut through the smoke coming out of my ears. She
giggles like a teenage girl and invites me to sit.

Moments later two guys are carrying my screaming body
through the hallway, moments after that I am on my ass outside.

I start running.

What does a man do when he is lost? He starts running. And
he runs and runs as the stars go by in the sky or right before his eyes. I’m
talking about the white dots when one completely and utterly exhausts himself.
When one’s knees start shaking and his arms start aching in exhaustion. When
his own mind starts a failsafe procedure of firing up the fuel reserves of
rage, when the images of him start flashing before his eyes only to shovel the coal
of rage into the big oven.

I don’t know where I’m going. There is a river on my left
side, and I can’t bear to think about that which is between my legs. I cannot
bear to look at it, I can’t bear to touch it. I already start feeling that it
is not a part of my body. A dire need flashes before my eyes. Scenes of
gruesome violence embroidered with white dots randomly appearing all over my
gaze. I scream and yell and scream. Then I fall down, tormented by exhaustion,
filled with irrational fears. I feel somebody clenching my bicep, but I shake off
and jog on.

It is cold and dark and my skin is steaming. Everywhere
across my body I can see the steam. I have no time to stop and investigate this
occurrence.

Pictures of him, carpet-bombing my memory more and more
often.

I am my own worst enemy. I am literally my own worst enemy.

I imagine breaking his nose. I imagine him thin and bloody
on the dance floor. I imagine him dried up and I think of my dick.

Out of my mind I start strolling back to my place. I stroll
back because I cannot run. I cannot run and I will never ever run again. My
cock is being separated from my body, and in some other universe, in some other
body, I laugh at the irony of it. I am rolling on the floor and this is a
comedy.

I feel the gaze of every and anyone I come across. I feel I
look like seven different kinds of shit. I am going to end up a dickless beggar
on the slimy streets of this dear city of mine. My dick is no longer a part of
me. My hand feels its soft skin but my mind tells me it’s dry, almost crumbling
into the inner parts of my underpants. Crumbs of my penis.

It has gotta go. This madness has to stop. It’s either him,
or both of us.

The knife is sharp. Give it a few moments and it’ll be hot.
Like hot knife through butter. I feel my cock with my hand and it is shriveled
up. It won’t give up. It’ll never give up. It runs back into his cave, but he
can’t fit entirely.

“What a prick.” I giggle.

My dick is on the table and this looks like a terribly
low-budget pornographic picture. Somebody kicks my door in.

This is the police, don’t move, they say

“What you gonna do?” I laugh madly.

There is help, they can help me, they will take me to a
place with white walls and my prick’s gonna be perfectly fine there. Words,
words, words.

A man dismembers his penis in a satanic ritual, I can
already see it in the papers. Fuck Satan, this ain’t about him. I gotta do
this. I know you don’t understand. Neither do I, but I have to. There are no
voices in my head. No voices but mine. And I am reasoning with myself. I have
patiently waited for any other solution, but there isn’t. I cannot be one with
my penis anymore. It’s either him or the both of us.

It is fine, the policeman says. He will help me, he begs. If
it were a woman she wouldn’t care. They never care. They just welcome it for a
hot party and then throw it out all drunk on juice and flabby. They never care, he never cared.

Let me help you, his words come as shocks springing me into
the reality, but only for brief moments. I am my heart and they are blowing
pulse into it. Every word of his is just a spike. A spike that doesn’t support
another one. There is no spike after spike. Only a spike. One. One is not
enough.

His gun is away and he is approaching me. His right hand
directed towards the knife and left one slowly moving towards my dick. Now it
really looks like a stupid porno.

Then I smile and say: “Sorry for the future nightmares”, and
thrust the knife downward.

My published works: (Also available on Kindle)

A story of excess and addictions.Click the thumbnail and buy a copy today!

Blew the Shot

Part biography, part horror tale, part touchingly emotional psycho-drama, this intriguing novel weaves up to the appalling incident behind William Burroughs' murder of Joan Vollmer. Click the thumbnail and buy a copy today!

Borrowed Flesh

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hobosexual

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Of Men and Maggots

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Tijuana Bebop

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Dark is the Night

A raw and gritty book concerning life's outcasts. Click onto the picture and purchase a copy today from the publisher's secure e-store!

Puta

Fractured romance south of the border. Click the thumbnail and buy a copy today!

Class Conscious Poetry.

Crazy, insane madness - set to verse! You can purchase a copy at the publishers estore by clicking on the pic!

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